Chapter 15 #2
‘Oh … maybe a caponata?’ I say suddenly, remembering it being on the menu when we had a glut of aubergines, tomatoes and courgettes from the suppliers.
‘Or …’ I put up my hand. ‘Sorry, sorry …’ The tears catch in my throat as I remember what Marco would do with a surplus of onions.
I thought I knew exactly what he would be thinking and that I knew everything about him.
But maybe I didn’t. Now I feel I didn’t know him at all.
The memory of the Marco I loved has disappeared, like gelato on a hot, sunny day.
I put down the knife, hurry out of the kitchen and across the road, hoping the children haven’t seen me. From the sounds of laughter and fun in the kitchen, I can breathe a sigh of relief that they haven’t.
I lean against the wall, hug myself and gaze at the beautiful green valley below that, for a while, from the photographs Marco had shown me, I believed would be my future.
I hear footsteps behind me. ‘You didn’t finish your coffee,’ says Giovanni.
‘Thank you.’ I turn to take it from him but with no intention of drinking it. I try to clear my throat. ‘A young woman came to the house last night.’
‘Ah,’ he says.
‘She said …’ I cough and try to clear it again, but it’s as tight as a coiled spring. ‘She said …’ my voice is very quiet ‘… she said she was a friend of my husband.’
He pauses, then says, ‘In that case I’m gathering you have met Stella.’
I glare at him, needing to direct my fury somewhere. ‘Who is she?’
He gives a sigh. ‘Stella comes and goes.’
‘Goes where?’
He shrugs. ‘She grew up here, but doesn’t have family here now. She travels and returns. Usually with stories of wild times and adventures.’
‘How does she know my husband? Are they … were they lovers?’
He shakes his head. ‘Stella is a young woman, looking for her place in the world. Like most of us. I would talk to her. Get the story straight before jumping to any conclusions.’
He’s right. I don’t know anything. But right now everything I thought we had, everything I believed to be true, has gone. This was my last chance to save something of what Marco and I had worked for. But that’s crumbled too.
‘I can put you in touch with her if you want, so you get a chance to hear her story.’
‘ Grazie … but I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that.’
‘Okay. When … if … you are, let me know.’
I look over the sun-baked field, breathing in the scent of the wild herbs growing there. ‘The only thing I know is that I have to leave here. As soon as possible. I need to get the house finished and go.’
I turn to Giovanni. He’s an attractive and kind man and, in another world at another time, I would have loved to lean against him, rest my head on his chest, breathe him in. But I won’t. Of course I won’t.
‘I only came here to do up the house,’ I say. ‘This was Marco’s dream for us. Not mine.’
At least, not without him. I’m sure it’s a great place to be and I can see why he wanted us to come but he’s not here.
I have to leave, as soon as I can. I shouldn’t have let my guard down, enjoying dinner and glasses of wine under the big fig tree.
Or passing the time of day with Alfonso, the shopkeeper, whose wife I ask after, knowing he cares for her while running the shop.
Waving to Giuseppe and the goats. Eating with women who have ended up on their own.
I have enough on my plate. I need to get on and get out.
‘I must find a plasterer. I know you said that if there was anything you could do to help … I really need to get the work done, and quickly. Is it something you could do?’
He shrugs.
‘As soon as the house sells, I can pay you. Just … not until then.’
He stays silent.
‘No, of course not. That’s a ridiculous idea. You don’t even know me. Why would you work for me and wait to be paid? I’m sorry I asked.’
‘It’s fine. I understand. Getting yourself back on your feet is hard.
It’s hard to accept help too. I remember,’ he says, gazing straight ahead at the view, ‘when I found myself here. I’d been travelling, just kept moving.
I didn’t want to stop. If I stopped, I had to think.
’ He swallows. ‘I lost a friend. A good friend. We worked in a kitchen together but the pressure became too much for Richie. He was younger than me, his whole life ahead of him. But the hours were torturous, as was the pressure. He took uppers to get to work and downers to try to sleep, but it all got too much for him. That was when I left. My relationship was in ruins and the kitchen was a toxic place.’ He lifts his head.
‘But here I’ve remembered why I loved the kitchen.
The camaraderie. The sharing, the fun. It’s okay to let others help you. ’
I feel him turn to me.
I shake my head. ‘I have to try to do it on my own. I don’t have the money to pay someone and I can’t expect anyone to help for nothing.’
‘Look, I can help with the ceiling, the plastering, but I’m needed here at La Tavola, as well as finishing jobs for some of the locals. I have painting for Alessandro’s nonna and a garden job for Alfonso. I can’t do those and your place as well.’
I nod. ‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘But if I could get someone to help at La Tavola, organize the food coming in and the meals, find ways of raising money to help more people, I might have time to do some plastering in return.’
He wants me to help here, in a kitchen. The last place I want to be.
He shrugs. ‘I have a few other jobs on that are paying me. I can’t turn those down.
Putting in handrails to help Gabriella, Alessandro’s nonna , move around the house more easily.
She is in her eighties and needs support.
I don’t charge much, but it helps. And creating a flat patio for Alfonso so he can help his wife sit outside and enjoy the sunshine. And, like I say, painting the school.’
‘There’s a school here?’
He smiles. ‘Just a small one. Caterina has a job there, starting in the autumn, helping with the little ones.’
‘She’ll be lovely, I’m sure.’
‘It’s good to keep it going. Some of the children from a local kids’ home go there. And it’s great that Caterina can settle and not feel she has to keep moving on. She feels safe here.’
I nod. ‘Thank you,’ and then, ‘But I’ll find a way to pay for the plastering. I can’t let you do it for nothing.’ I hand him back the coffee mug. Every part of me wants to walk away and never come back. But where would I go? I’ve got literally nothing left.
As I walk down the hill, in the cool shadows of the buildings, I can see a figure, outside the house. Waiting … for me.